Christmas in the Supercenter
by SardonicShipper
Summary: Cas and Dean shop for Christmas gifts. Romance, angst, laughs, tears, bloodshed, and good discounts.


I wrote this on tumblr and decided to put it here as well.

This is set post-season 8.

I own none of Supernatural or any of the other things referenced in this story.

xxxx

Dean hated megastores. Too many memories of Sammy's hand straining to stay in his, Dean yanking him from one aisle to another, both trying to keep up with John's broad strides as he dumped months of supplies into his cart and threw the rest at Dean to carry one-handed. Some days Sammy had been terrified, barely keeping up, tripping over the too-big sneakers he'd inherited from big brother. Other days Sammy had been brave, sprinting to the food counter to beg for pretzels and popcorn, Dean running after him, hating the glares surrounding him, hating the sympathetic stares even more.

If he had to go back in one of those hellholes he would do it in his own way.

"Dean, why do R2D2 and C3P0 assume the Wookie already owns a comb? I know they had already given him a comb, but an entire year had passed, and Wookies have an…extensive amount of body hair. Combs don't last forever."

Dean sighed. The ringtone on Cas' phone was supposed to be a joke. Cas was supposed to stare quizzically and make some pointed comments about the waste of humanity. Instead, Cas had taken the whole thing as some type of profound question, Dean suspected, in part, to spoil his fun.

Since one avenue of happy holidays had been spoiled, and since they'd been running low on supplies, Dean was currently in the parking lot trying not to expound on the meaning of a Wookie's life.

"Setting foot in the meat packing plant's bad enough without hearing those Autotuned 10 year olds. Probably some fuckin' plot by Lucifer…"

Cas pondered, but disagreed.

"Not likely. Lucifer left behind plans to eviscerate all copies of the High School Musical trilogy."

Dean snorted.

"Never thought I'd regret stopping an apocalypse. Cas, just put that on the soundtrack, call it a gift to my ears."

"This seems like a frivolous use of my grace."

Dean was tempted to snark a comment about using powers for good instead of evil, but his chest tightened at just how inappropriate that would be. Inappropriate as in either being blasted out of the Impala and somewhere into Cleveland, or Cas crying a river of tears. He wasn't sure which one would hurt more.

Dean leaned over, bit Cas' earlobe, not too gently, not too hard, whispered in his ear.

"Just call it music appreciation."

Cas still wasn't sure, even as he appreciatively groaned at Dean licking his neck.

"S-Sam said…"

Dean groaned. Hello Sam, goodbye libido.

"I gave up on teaching Sam music appreciation after he tried to sneak off to Lilith Fair."

Before Cas could attempt to give him pointers on the haunting power of Shawn Colvin's lyrics, Dean got out of the car, purposefully striding to the super center. Cas fell into line beside him. Dean thought they made a pretty bad-ass team, bringing some Winchester style to the cavernous warehouse of commercialism.

He lost that thought as soon as he was trampled by a sea of angry moms and dads fighting over the latest marketing ploy for kids, probably called Buy Me, Suckers. He was drowning in a sea of parental and grandparental rage, footprints in places he never wanted to speak of. He was doing his best to avoid being kicked in the head. Of all the ways to die, this was pretty damn pathetic…

Just as he was about to brace himself for an eternity of snickering from Bobby, he heard Cas growling at the hordes.

"LEAVE US, DEMONS!"

With a mere thought, dozens and dozens of boxes of pouting dolls suddenly dropped from the sky, flying toward the back of the supercenter. The hyper-caffeinated crowd left Dean in a rumpled mess as they each fought their way toward nirvana.

Once the aisle was clear, aside from the remains of one hunter, said hunter tried to sit up. Cas was beside Dean in an instant, cradling his head and kissing him between bouts of curses which, based on the scraps of Enochian Cas had taught Dean over the years, briefly made him wonder if his furious protector had just keyed their cars.

Pissed off Cas was one of Dean's biggest triggers, but he broke off from that last, bruising kiss, realizing that making out in the middle of a Wal-Mart floor was not the best idea.

Ignoring the stares and the one great big lewd grin surrounding them, Dean tugged Cas along by the arm.

"C'mon. We don't want security on our asses."

Cas huffed. "I am not scared of 'security.'"

Dean laughed. "I'm scared for THEM."

Cas didn't bother to argue with that one. Instead, they trudged along, picking out supplies, a big pink Hello Kitty blouse for Sam, a dog calendar for Amelia, and socks and peanuts for Garth and Kevin. Cas found a cheap but tasteful bracelet for Mrs. Tran, as she'd praised his taste in jewelry after she and Cas had gone out looking for engagement rings. She was joking about the last part. Dean hoped. Sorta. Maybe. Maybe not.

Only when Dean took a moment to catch his breath did he realize "R2D2 We Wish You A Merry Christmas" had been playing on a loop for most of their walkabout. He grinned with the side of his mouth, trying not to flush when Cas stroked the back of his neck, protectively.

"It was the least I could do," Cas replied, deadpan, a hint of affection. "Jon Bon Jovi has a very diverse recording career."

Dean snorted a reply as he casually picked up pieces of a half-broken nativity set. As Cas stared at the worn ceramic figures intently, Dean wasn't sure whether to ask.

"Bring back memories?" he finally dared.

Cas smiled, melancholy and warmth, attempting to sift out the best of Heaven from the scars.

"Vividly."

Dean shouldn't have been surprised, but he still heard the awe creeping into his voice.

"Were you there, Cas?"

Cas half-shook his head, breaking from the trance.

"No. I was at the true birth. This was merely a diversion to occupy the - I believe today you would call them 'paparazzi.'"

Dean sucked in a breath.

"So…that was a stunt Jesus? Holy sh…never mind. Sorry. Sorry. What about Mary and Joseph?"

Cas allowed himself a sly grin, as if remembering an annoying but likeable relation.

"They were…very eager to serve a purpose. Unbearably eager. Kind. I can only compare them to the townspeople in the DVD Sam showed us. I believe the title was Waiting for Guffman."

Dean's mind always blanked out at the mention of "Sam's DVDs," as most of them involved middle-aged Europeans committing suicide.

Cas, struggling to hide his impatience, tried to help.

"_Nothing ever happens on Mars_."

Dean's face broke into a wide grin. He remembered now. He'd sung that over and over, drunk off his ass. Sam had stormed out in a huff. Good times.

"The true birth was much more special. Someday…I would like to show you."

Dean still couldn't wrap his head around it. Mythbusters: Bethlehem. He wasn't much of a believer, but he'd come to believe in Cas, and was grateful for anything out of that snake pit which could bring Cas even a moment of contentment.

Dean stared around the busy store, standing still in the sea of holiday anxiety, knowing he should be grateful - he had Sam, he had Cas, he was relatively healthy, and was probably the happiest he'd ever been. He worked hard to fight the twinge of jealousy at the sense of peace Cas had found in that memory. Those bastards had tortured him, more than once. Not exactly the time for Dean to pout in envy.

As if sensing his thoughts - which he very likely did - Cas moved closer to Dean, staring at him in a regretful way which made Dean reach for his hand, clasping them together, not giving a damn what anyone said or thought.

"Dean, may I show you a memory?"

His tone suggested this memory wasn't about the holy birth, but was much more personal.

Dean swallowed. He knew Cas wouldn't hurt him, intentionally. He knew he had to trust. Not quite able to say the words, he nodded.

The images began almost immediately.

_"I'm supposed to reach for the top shelves! You're…"_

_"Pregnant, John. Very pregnant. And healthy. You're too busy reaching for the beer."_

_"You're starting to sound like your mother. I…don't cry, Mary. Mary. Mary, I'm sorry. You OK?"_

_"John, I…I want to name him after Mom."_

_"Deana? Funny name for a boy."_

_"Cute. I want to name him Dean."_

_"Dean. Dean. James Dean."_

_"Now you'll finally have a reason to keep wearing that beat up leather jacket."_

_"Got a mouth on you. I bet Dean will too."_

_"And I bet you'll love him just as much as you love me."_

_"Already do. Hear that, boy? I love you. Now give me another good kick and I think we'll keep you."_

The images faded again, but Dean never wanted to forget them. He'd known on some level that his father had loved him, even pieced together the hazy moments of a child who became a man at 4, but to see this not in a memory full of obligation, or pain, or bitterness…and to see his mother, so beautiful, so strong, to know that, even for a moment, he'd made his parents happy…

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Embarrassed, or mostly just grateful, not sure what he was, drowning in a million emotions.

Cas looked at him, concerned.

"Dean, I never meant to hurt…"

Dean smothered his face in Cas' stubbled neck, doing his best not to sniffle or snort or humiliate himself any further. He had no idea what he was saying, and his subconscious likely knew this was the best time to get shit done.

"D-Don't even fuckin' try to apologize to me. What you just did for me, Cas. Love you. Love you so much. If you really do wanna marry me, I'd do it right now. Love you…"

For many years to come, Castiel would tell anyone who cared enough to listen that in early December, 2013, in a crowded Wal-Mart in Ohio, to the Star Wars Christmas soundtrack, Dean Winchester had agreed to become his husband.

Dean would roll his eyes, blush a little, look away, play with the faded band on his finger, but he never, ever denied it.


End file.
